


Karo and Milk

by Sincerely_Sierra



Series: Alice [1]
Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: 1950s, 1950s baby care, F/F, Post-Finale, baby on the doorstep, confused lesbians try to take care of a baby, mentions of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28114560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincerely_Sierra/pseuds/Sincerely_Sierra
Summary: One stormy summer night in California, Mildred and Gwendolyn are awakened to a strange mewling on their motel doorstep.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Series: Alice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061582
Comments: 19
Kudos: 63





	Karo and Milk

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friends. This is my first Ratched fic, which sprung from a thought I had while watching the series for the millionth time; “how would these two confused baby lesbians care for a baby?” 
> 
> I had to find a recipe for 1950s baby formula, and I was appalled. Karo! 
> 
> This might diverge a bit from canon, but I tried making it all make a little sense somehow, although I’m not very good at it.  
> —Sincerely, Sierra

No one understood why Gwendolyn and Mildred returned to California. Perhaps a sense of reality and comfort knowing their reason for fleeing to Mexico was no longer a burden, or that good ol’ Betsy Bucket whom Mildred had grown to keenly accept over the last few years, or even—in Mildred’s mind—to outwit that brother of hers and make him speed around in circles searching for her blood like a hound.

Whatever the case may have been, Mildred and Gwendolyn found themselves in that dusty seaside motel where the events of the past three or four years had unfolded so miserably, yet again, but not by chance or fate this time; by choice. Something Mildred did not quite have throughout her life. Control. 

Moving from Mexico, crossing the border for what felt like the millionth time although only the second, was exhausting for the pair. They had no established home, no one to call family besides each other, no jobs to sustain themselves, although Mildred was keen on hightailing it for Lucia out of desperation. 

Their savings, which Gwendolyn had the honor of suggesting, were just that: savings. It saved them from being homeless upon returning to the States, and though the money collected from selling their small but quaint home in Mexico was enough to get them by, it certainly wasn’t enough long-term, which was something they would have to discuss if they ever wanted to see financial stability again. Their savings paid for a couple of weeks at the motel while they sorted things out and rested in order to sort those things out. Gwendolyn could think without much sleep. Mildred, on the other hand, tended to become agitated with less than six hours a night.

Maybe their decision to return to the bloodshed was not ideal, but they discovered they were just as happy here as they were anywhere, as long as they held each other. Some nights Gwendolyn preferred they return to Mexico and grapple with their finances under the sun and above the sand rather than here, in an allergy-ridden motel room run by someone who certainly was not Louise. But she digressed into the throes of her mind, accepting that, under those faded covers and atop that stiff mattress laid her future, whatever that was bound to look like. 

Gwendolyn remained awake that night while Mildred slept soundly next to her, her thoughts racing each other to win a prize of insomnia. The rain had become a storm not too long ago, and Gwendolyn feared the thunder waking Mildred or causing her to hide beneath the bed as the former had once found her upon returning home from a quick shopping trip. 

For a moment, Gwendolyn thanked herself for persuading Mildred to put that damned book away and get some decent sleep, unknowing of what tomorrow was to bring. She had promised the brunette woman to be there when she awakened, and that would forever be true for Gwendolyn, because they always awakened together each morning. Much like the California climate, that much never once changed, and they preferred to keep it as such, because Mildred, as often as she denied it, needed Gwendolyn near in the mornings, or the rest of the day would fold.

It was half past midnight when Gwendolyn’s eyes became heavy. She forfeited Mildred’s book in her hands and set it gingerly upon the nightstand as she reached for the lamp switch. Submersing the room in darkness, the woman slid beneath the scratchy covers and allowed her eyes to slide closed like butter in the sun, and all was still for a few minutes as she felt herself slip away with Mildred lightly breathing next to her. 

The familiar sensation of falling and being jolted awake arrived so quickly that Gwendolyn could feel it in earnest. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest as her eyes focused on the door of the motel, straining to watch the doorknob in case it twisted. There had been some sort of thud, but she couldn’t have been certain. Nevertheless, the woman carefully eased out of bed, taking great care not to wake Mildred from her slumber, for it would be impossible to get her back to sleep. 

It must have been all in Gwendolyn’s head. She sighed to herself and paced around for a moment before relinquishing herself to bed again, still slow in her movements in case Mildred had felt her leave. She pressed a kiss to the soft, brown hair and draped one arm around Mildred’s waist, bringing her impossibly closer, as if someone were to steal her away any second.

There it was again. The mewling. Now, Gwendolyn knew she hadn’t been imagining things in her sleep-deprived state of being. There must have been someone or something out there, and whatever it was, it sounded wounded. If she hadn’t had such a bleeding heart for anything slightly injured or in pain—like Mildred—Gwendolyn probably could have simply ignored the noises and drifted off to sleep. But she was most definitely a bleeding heart, and she could not fathom leaving that defenseless thing out in the storm that way. 

Once again, the exhausted woman found herself padding to the motel door. As a precaution to soothe her oncoming anxiety, Gwendolyn pressed her eye to the peephole, finding nothing but darkness and humidity at the edge of the sea for miles. Checking once over her shoulder, ensuring Mildred hadn’t moved, Gwendolyn turned the locks and slightly slit the door, using one careful eye to peer down at the doorstep. 

For the first time, in a long time, Gwendolyn’s heart twisted with dread. There was a beaten, splinted milk crate sat on the step, the edges soaked with rainwater. Thunder rumbled on and lightning struck the ocean, and Gwendolyn assumed she was in a silent horror, being filmed by some perverted movie director.The blackened night provided no natural light to Gwendolyn, so the contents of the crate were merely a mystery, which was more than dubious, considering there was a crazed mass murderer out there who would stop at nothing to hurt her poor Mildred. 

The only thing comforting the woman was the fact that the mewling and whining was emitting from the crate and not beyond the doorstep. Gwendolyn scoped her surroundings, searching for a sign of humanity or a booby trap or anything out of the ordinary. Other than the bursting winds blowing intense hot air, nothing seemed out of place, and so she reached forward and took hold of the crate. 

It was light as she brought it inside the motel room, and even lighter as she set it down on the chair beside the door. She raised the lights, filling the room with a yellowish glow as she locked the door. The sounds of the mechanics twisting and whatever it was crying woke Mildred this time, and the woman groaned and turned over in bed, her palm blindly reaching for the alarm clock.

“Did I miss my alarm, Gwen?” Mildred whined. Her hands did a ballet around the nightstand. “Gwendolyn?” 

“I’m here, darling,” Gwendolyn softly assured from the corner of the room. “We have a present. Come take a look with me. Please.”

Mildred was more than befuddled. Her alarm had not sounded off yet and the night was still wet and dark. Why was Gwendolyn fussing over a milk crate at nearly one in the morning? What a peculiar woman Mildred had fallen in love with, but never minding that, Mildred stumbled out of bed and over to her lover, her swollen eyes zeroing in on the crate.

“What is this?” Mildred questioned. “Who delivers milk in the middle of the night? Much less on a stormy one?”

“Mildred, I think there’s something in there, but I’m not sure what it could be. I. . .I’m a bit afraid to have a look,” Gwendolyn honestly admitted. “It makes noise.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, it had better not be a cat! The last thing we need is to get thrown out of here because of a shedding, breeding feline—“

Mildred’s tirade against fluffy creatures was halted by a sharp wail from the crate. Both women stumbled back a few paces, their hands instinctively finding each other and grasping as if whatever was inside intended to hurt them and the only way to prevent harm was to hold hands in a very strange homosexual way no one understood.

“That sounded a lot like a baby,” Gwendolyn said. 

“A baby,” Mildred breathed out. She counted three breaths before speaking again. “What kind of person would leave a baby on our doorstep?”

Four breaths between them later, Gwendolyn decided the thing would not stop whining unless taken care of. She provided herself the honors of tossing the lid of the crate off, only to discover an itchy white towel, which was moving mercilessly. Mildred remained on the cusp of Gwendolyn’s shoulder as the latter scooped the bundle into her arms and brought it instinctively to her chest. 

“What. . .what is it?” Mildred questioned, still shaking off some sleep. 

“It’s a baby, darling,” Gwendolyn announced. “Or, I think it is. Certainly feels like one.”

Gwendolyn carried the flailing bundle to the unmade bed and laid it down like a precious gold medal, handling it with such care that she only showed Mildred. She carefully unfolded the towel’s corners, and out came two tiny, pink arms and hands. Mildred’s chest clenched and she felt the familiar tingle of vomit in her throat as Gwendolyn completely unwrapped the baby, revealing a very small human clad only in a cloth diaper and a pair of poorly-fitted socks. 

“Oh, my,” Gwendolyn breathed. “It’s a baby, Mildred.”

Mildred gently pushed Gwendolyn to the side and marveled at the infant. Immediately her hands got to work, touching the baby and feeling its skin for abnormalities or a fever. Her thumbs found their way around the navel, and Mildred frowned in disapproval. 

“It must have just been born,” Mildred pointed out. “The stump is still very fresh. They usually fall off on their own one to three weeks following birth. I see it was properly cut and clamped, so it must have been delivered by someone who knew what they were doing. I doubt this was some back alley childbirth.”

Watching in awe of how easily Mildred took to examining the newborn, Gwendolyn stood back and waited patiently for her to be satisfied with herself and her findings. After a few minutes of careful prodding with seldom fingers, Mildred hooked one index finger in the front of the diaper and pulled forward. Her lips formed into a saddened smile and her tired eyes crinkled. 

“It’s a girl,” declared Mildred. She quickly swaddled the baby again but did not pick her up as Gwendolyn had. “Would you. . .pick her up? I don’t trust myself.”

“Of course,” Gwendolyn replied, her arms already gathering the baby into them again. She looked incredulously at her girlfriend of four years. “Mildred. . .what are we going to do? Someone just left a child on our doorstep!”

Gwendolyn’s raised tone of voice at the last inflection startled the baby, and she began to cry, causing the woman to inadvertently panic and begin bouncing around the room like a neurotic, lunatic patient at Lucia. She patted the baby’s back and shushed into her ear as Mildred dug into the milk crate. At the bottom of the crate laid a two pieces of paper and an empty glass bottle with a rubber nipple at the top. 

“Gwen, look,” Mildred whispered just as Gwendolyn managed to soothe the baby to quiet sniffles against her chest. “They left a note.”

“Read it, please, darling,” said Gwendolyn. She was still swaying uncomfortably, unadjusted to the feel of a human child whining against her body. 

“‘To whom is concerns, baby Alice is much better with you. She was born on August 1st, 1951. I’ve included her bottle and formula instructions. Please take care of her, whomever you are.’” Mildred’s glassy, tearful eyes held in whatever anguish she could feel in the moment. Gwendolyn had been listening but was fussing over the whimpering baby Alice, her arms almost giving out from rocking and swaying. “Gwendolyn. . .she’s orphaned. She’s six days old and an orphan.” 

That revelation alone angered both women beyond repair. Alice was a newborn, a completely innocent, untouched child, and here she was, in two strangers’ motel room with one woman cradling her and desperately attempting to calm her to avoid waking the entire motel while the other held the only piece of her life left behind, a handwritten note from whomever left her to soak in the storm like a greasy dish. 

Mildred felt the tears sting her eyes. Briefly, reading the note reminded her of her days in the foster homes, where she was beaten and starved within an inch of her short life for a government stipend in return. She had been somewhat lucky, or so they say, to experience having a mother during those ten or so years before being blackout drunk was a regular occurrence. But Alice. . .she had no mother. She began life without a maternal touch, without a comforting breast, without much of anything but the towel she had been haphazardly wrapped in. 

“What are we going to do?” Mildred whispered. 

“We need to take her somewhere where she will be safe. The police station, a hospital, anywhere. Someone will find who she belongs to. They have to. We can’t do much for an abandoned baby.” 

Oh, Gwendolyn. The ray of sunshine she always tended to be bursted through with a beam of hope, but Mildred understood very well. She understood the intent of the birth mother who, for whatever reason, could not afford to keep a baby. Babies were expensive, and only housewives with a middle class husband and a steady household income could afford such a luxury. Clothes, formula, baby food, toys. Mildred could not fathom having a baby. She understood well, and she understood it all from hearing stories of back alley abortions during her time in the Army. The nurses who unexpectedly found themselves expecting and could not consciously afford to bring life into death, and found ways to silently terminate before anyone could suspect anything from them and return to wrapping wounds and applying pressure to gunshots the very next morning, unless they were one of the unlucky few who had fatally bled from a botched abortion in a last attempt to free themselves from what would be an infinite life sentence to something horrendous. 

But on the other hand, she could not understand why someone, anyone, would leave a child in an unfamiliar place, despite all possibilities. Gwendolyn was right; a hospital would have been a wiser option. Or even a church, and Mildred was not of the religious sorts in the slightest. She was not fond of the idea of children in church, but they could have provided more shelter and necessities than two women who barely made ends meet as it was. 

“But what are we going to do in the meantime? It’s pouring out,” Mildred observed as her eyes trailed to the window. “We can’t just dump her on the side of the road like her mother just did.” 

“We will figure something out. We always do,” Gwendolyn assured. She shushed Alice and lowered herself into a chair near the kitchenette. “She might be hungry. Poor thing.”

“Newborns need to eat every two hours or so,” Mildred pointed out. “Their stomachs are very small and can only handle a thimble of milk at this age.” 

Gwendolyn’s eyes twinkled mirthfully. Here Mildred was, unwilling to handle an infant at one in the morning under extreme duress, yet she knew so much more about them than Gwendolyn ever could. It seemed as though Mildred was reading off a script in the back of her mind as she informed Gwendolyn of how a baby’s stomach worked and how they need to be fed properly to avoid poisoning or starving them. Of course Mildred would mention the poisoning.

“Unless you somehow have milk in there, Ms. Ratched, which I know from firsthand experience you do not, I suggest we get some proper nutrition in this baby somehow,” Gwendolyn said teasingly, her eyes sparkling with a laugh she was holding in to avoid disturbing Alice. 

“I beg your pardon!” Mildred crossed her arms and pouted. “I’m a nurse, or was a nurse, but you would never find me nursing a baby. How ironic is that?”

“Very,” the other woman slyly responded as she adjusted Alice’s position in her arms. “But I don’t know how to make a formula that would be suitable for a newborn. As you can see, I am not very good with children.” 

“That’s what this paper and bottle are for, I suppose,” said Mildred before she began rattling off a few heinous ingredients from the formula recipe chart. “Seven ounces evaporated milk, fourteen ounces water, two tablespoons Karo.” 

Gwendolyn’s nose wrinkled in that absolutely perfect way that made Mildred melt into a puddle of her own happiness. The woman cradling the child snuggled Alice closer to prevent her from catching a chill, despite the night being very warm, and watched as Mildred rushed to the kitchenette and dug around the cabinets. 

The couple had brought their very few groceries with them during their long trip back to California, and Gwendolyn had found herself dabbling in baking during her recovery more often than she should have. Mildred procured a sticky, three-quarters empty bottle of Karo and a dented can of evaporated milk from the cabinet, causing Gwendolyn to nearly retch. Oh, how awful would this taste to a tiny infant? 

“I’m sure it’s perfectly fine and nutritious, Gwen,” Mildred assured upon sensing her lover’s tenseness. “Why would a doctor prescribe this if it were not sufficient?” 

How ironic, Gwendolyn drawled in her mind. Wasn’t their entire situation based upon a botched doctor and an unstable mental facility? 

Mildred turned on the stove with a faint click and brought fourteen ounces of water to a quick simmer under the flame. While the water boiled, Mildred observed Gwendolyn and Alice, studying the woman as she silently counted the little pink toes and fingers. Alice slept soundly in Gwendolyn’s arms, and Mildred understood it too well. Gwendolyn’s arms were the safest place on earth. 

While Gwendolyn hummed a tune from her childhood, Mildred poured the two tablespoons of Karo into the water fallowed by the evaporated milk, stirring lightly until it was mostly white with a faint brown tinge. She allowed it to simmer just as Gwendolyn’s tune faded into nothing and all was silent again. Quickly, to alleviate the agony of stillness, Mildred poured three ounces of the formula into the glass bottle and replaced the teat, offering it to Gwendolyn, who, again, wrinkled her nose.

“It’s perfectly nutritious,” Mildred assured, urging the bottle into her hand.

“That’s what you said about bologna when we first met,” Gwendolyn reminded in a quiet whisper. “Just because something will keep you alive does not mean it’s healthy for you.”

“It’s all we have,” replied the brunette. “She needs to eat, the doctor prescribed the formula, and it’s pouring. There is no other option here.” 

Gwendolyn forfeited her argument and graciously took the bottle from Mildred. Alice’s eyes began to flutter open, revealing murky gray hues the color of the stormy sky. Her arms stretched out beyond their limits and her mouth made a suckling motion, and Gwendolyn did not need Mildred’s wise observations to understand what that meant. 

“It’s a bit too hot,” Gwendolyn pointed out as she tested the milk on her wrist. She gave it a lick and choked. “Give it a minute or two to cool.” 

“Now, are you talking to me or to the baby?” asked Mildred as she sat on the bed across from Gwendolyn. 

A giggle erupted from Gwendolyn’s mouth. “You, silly.”

Baby Alice became more agitated as the seconds ticked by. She kicked her legs and whimpered against Gwendolyn’s chest. The newborn felt so vulnerable and fragile in the woman’s arms, and Gwendolyn feared she would break to pieces at any moment. By the time Alice vocalized her hunger, the bottle had cooled, and Gwendolyn urged the nipple into her little mouth. She had no issues latching and took to it like a fish to water, suckling down as much as her tiny stomach could fill. 

“Someone was starving,” Gwendolyn fondly cooed. Once Alice polished off an ounce, she lifted her to her shoulder and pat her back, eyeing the fiddling woman across from herself. “Mildred? Do you want to hold her?”

Mildred shook her head. Alice was too fragile and was much safer in the company of someone as gentle and balm as Gwendolyn was. Mildred did not deserve to hold a baby, nor was she qualified to. Her hands had performed lobotomies and carried the blood of soldiers. They were not meant for babies. They would harm any child placed into her arms, and she could not risk harming such a precious being. 

“Alright, then,” Gwendolyn said as she resumed feeding Alice. Mildred studied her features, deciding Gwendolyn was not angry with her. 

The baby drank quietly, her little sniffles against the bottle swelling Gwendolyn’s heart with joy. Eventually, there was nothing but drops left in the bottle, and the blond-haired woman sighed in content as she, again, lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted gently while swaying, until Alice emitted a small burp.

“There, all better,” Gwendolyn sang. It reminded Mildred of when she would wake from a night terror to find Gwendolyn cradling her and kissing her face, assuring her that everything was alright. 

Mildred observed silently as her lover tended to the baby, rocking and shushing. In all honesty, Mildred was madly in love with how Gwendolyn mollified the child with such ease. For someone having no experience with infants, she certainly mastered it. 

“We will find something to do with her,” said Gwendolyn, after she settled calm Alice against her breast. “We won’t abandon her. We will find a safe place to leave her and make sure she goes to a good home.” 

“To a nuclear family, you mean,” Mildred groaned bitterly. She was uncertain if she was bitter because she was exhausted or because the entire situation felt like something out of a fantasy novel, but whatever it was, she was still bitter. “A man and woman. Because they are the only ones capable of raising children.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mildred,” Gwendolyn hissed, a bit harsher than intended. Her disposition softened upon Mildred flinching. “Darling. This little foundling needs a home. You know exactly what will happen once we give her to a hospital or social worker; they will place her up for adoption and a heterosexual couple will take her in. I know we seem like the better options, but until the rest of the world catches up to us, that option is unavailable.”

“I never said I wanted her,” Mildred corrected with haste. “I find it disgusting that people like us, people who took an abandoned child in from the storm, would be turned away by Jane and John Q. Public for engaging in sinful behavior, when we know for a fact that those same Jane and John are the ones leaving babies on doorsteps. Queer people like us cannot have children and therefore don’t have a chance to just throw them away.”

Gwendolyn wanted to chuckle at Mildred using the word “queer.” It was a word seldom used in their vocabulary, finding that it sounded vile leaving their mouths and did not quite fit. But Mildred using it in contempt was very fitting, and all felt right in the world as she paced about the room, cursing heterosexuals and the terrible foster care system that had failed her time and time again.

“Darling,” Gwendolyn cooed as she stood up, Alice flush against her shoulder. “Relax, honey. It’s going to be just fine. We cannot keep her, and hopefully we’re both alive to witness the day where people like us can have children, but until then, we have to make do somehow. Right?” 

Mildred’s grievance turned into sorrow as she rested her head on Gwendolyn’s free shoulder. The slightly taller woman wrapped her arm around Mildred’s waist and held both of them close, unfavorably juggling both a baby and exhausted Mildred. She pressed a kiss to Mildred’s head and guided them both to the bed, sitting with her and moving Alice to her lap. 

“It will be just fine,” assured Gwendolyn. “She will grow up with whoever she’s placed with, but hopefully, she grows up being kind to others despite all abnormalities.”

Mildred studied the sleeping child. Everything about her was infantile; her head of brown hair, her button nose, her tiny lips. Once again, Mildred found herself asking the universe why someone would do such a thing, but she knew. She had known for a long time, but with the effects staring her in the face, she questioned it again.

“Can I hold her?” asked Mildred, taking Gwendolyn by surprise. 

“Of course.” 

Gwendolyn eased Alice over to Mildred, who seemed uncertain about how to properly hold such a tiny thing. Eventually, Mildred found what little instincts she did have take over for her, and she was cradling the baby against herself very stiffly, as if Alice were a small nuclear bomb. Chuckling to herself, Gwendolyn helped Mildred relax by rubbing a flat palm along her shoulder, allowing her muscles to loosen. 

“It feels so strange,” Mildred observed. “She weighs almost nothing.”

“The formula will fix that,” Gwendolyn assured. “I don’t see any baby on Karo being underweight for very long.”

Mildred rocked back and forth slightly, mimicking Gwendolyn’s actions from a few minutes ago. Alice did not wake once, or even stir, and Mildred reveled in that silent victory, because at least then she was not uncomfortable with a strange woman holding her. 

“I suppose neither of us are sleeping tonight,” said Gwendolyn. “She only has one diaper and it needs to be washed.”

“Why us?” Mildred suddenly questioned. Gwendolyn’s eyes clouded. “I mean, why us? You would think, a parent wanting to abandon their baby with someone would drop it off in the suburbs where all the nuclear families are. Who would venture all the way to a motel and leave a child with a drug addicted, hanky-panky-loving person?” 

“Are we drug addicted?” Gwendolyn’s brow quirked. She chucked at Mildred’s reddening cheeks as she grabbed a coffee cup from the sink and filled it with water. “To answer your question, I suppose it makes a little sense. We’re near the edge of town. Perhaps whoever left her wanted to get out as quickly as possible and saw this as the perfect spot to drop and run.” 

Mildred’s sour face was more than exciting for Gwendolyn. She rarely ever saw Mildred in a poor mood ever since her cancer shrank into nothing and they could return to normal lovemaking and easy moonlit nights with glasses of wine. This expression, the one Mildred held as she rocked Alice while considering John and Jane as perfect parents, brought Gwendolyn back to the day she first laid eyes on that sour face. Four years and a million years later, nothing had changed.

“You are thinking too hard,” Gwendolyn said, sitting next to Mildred. 

“She’s just a baby,” said Mildred, her voice wavering. “I was at least a little older when I was orphaned. She can’t help herself at all. At least I could bathe and feed myself.”

“Hey, darling. Don’t compare your trauma to this situation. Both are equally terrible, alright? You deserve to grieve your past,” Gwendolyn assured. 

Leaning her head against her lover’s shoulder, Mildred sighed and melted into the embrace that protected her beyond her wildest dreams. Whatever the next day would bring, whether it would be a screaming newborn or a church frowning upon Mildred as she feigned being a helpless single mother in need of freedom to properly dispose of Alice, the couple needed to think carefully. But for that moment, while Alice slept soundly, all was quiet. 

The remainder of the night was filled with Alice’s whimpers and many bottles and a soiled diaper that Mildred nearly vomited upon touching. And when the storm alleviated enough to see beyond the window and the morning sun crept above the horizon, Mildred and Gwendolyn disposed of their nightclothes and slid into a proper fitting ensemble, as if they were going to work for the first time in what felt like decades. 

Mildred drove as Gwendolyn sat in the backseat with Alice wrapped tightly in a towel, not quite trusting herself with holding Alice that long. Gwendolyn used care while feeding Alice the final bottle, which Mildred had made in the motel to placate the child in case the rumbling of the engine startled her. 

There was a small, quaint hospital in the next town over. Mildred did not care to make note of the name, for she would not be returning. She parked the car at the edge of the building, away from any spectators or bustling crowds. She turned to the backseat, finding Gwendolyn absentmindedly rocking the baby. 

“Do you want to do it or should I?” asked Mildred. 

“You,” Gwendolyn softly responded. “I’m not so sure that I can.”

Prying Alice from Gwendolyn was difficult, but once the baby was safely in Mildred’s arms, Mildred felt a rush of dread fill her body. She stared at Alice with twinkling eyes, questioning the wonders of the world and if she would be a monster if she did this. She didn’t want to be a monster to this baby the way her own mother had been to her when she decided parenting was not for her.

“No,” Mildred whispered. “I can’t do it, Gwen. I can’t.” 

Shrinking into the seat, Gwendolyn lit a cigarette and took a long drag. She would have offered to bite the bullet, if she weren’t terrified of collapsing in remorse upon approaching the building. 

And thus, neither woman made it to the hospital. After Gwendolyn polished off her cigarette, Mildred relinquished the baby to her arms and put the car in reverse. Within minutes, the sleepy little town was nothing but a blur in Mildred’s rear view. 

—

Betsy Bucket arrived at the quiet motel mere hours after receiving her pleasant invitation for a drink, a bottle of wine in her hand. Gwendolyn was attempting to soothe wailing Alice as Mildred allowed Betsy in, who was still clad in her Lucia uniform, hat and all. The older woman’s smile was lost upon noticing the whining creature Gwendolyn was trying her hardest to feed, to no avail. 

“Mildred. . .whose baby is that?” Betsy questioned, her eyes never leaving the infant. 

“As of this morning, it seems like she’s ours,” Mildred responded curtly. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Betsy moaned. “Now I really need a drink. Pass me a glass and tell me all about it.” 


End file.
